


In Grace and Choice

by rivlee



Series: The Long Way Home [5]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:56:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nasir reflects after a battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Grace and Choice

Nasir could taste blood in his mouth. It could be his own, could be that of the Roman fucks he’d just sent to greet Charon, could be both. He cared not; the thrill of victory thrummed through his veins. He looked around the corpses littered on the muddy ground and tried to discern their own among the mess. There were always fallen in battle yet he would take comfort when more of them stood alive than the Romans. To watch Rome’s army retreat was a sight Nasir never dreamed of; to be one to aid in such a cause, too fanciful to even contemplate as a wish. 

The familiar yell of Saxa’s calmed his racing heart. She still stood among the living and many of her kin answered her call. Those he loved most still stood alive, as covered in blood and dirt as he, but all healthy. He turned from congratulating Sigihild to find Agron behind him. He opened his arms in greeting, grasping tight to the bare skin hidden under leather shoulder guards. Agron smelled of iron, of earth, and tasted of sweat. His pulse was alive and thudding under Nasir’s hands. 

There were be time for celebration later, after the smell and taste of death was left behind. They made do with a quick press of their foreheads, a moment to share breath, out of Nasir, into Agron, and back. They would renew each other again far from this scarred earth, in the sanctuary of tent and bedroll that had become their home. 

They stood behind Spartacus as they watched the long line of fleeing red capes. A few cheers, chants, and songs went up among their forces, but most of them stood like Nasir, silent as they watched what they’d done. They’d survived, would live to greet another dawn, and those Romans would return to their commanders and tell tales of the rebellious slaves, the barbarians, the men, women, and demons from the Underworld that bared their teeth at Rome and all her supposed glories. They’d taken their freedom and now they’d all take their own vengeance for what they’d suffered. It was no longer just the cause of a man seeking to avenge the murder of his wife; now each sought their own past to avenge, their own war to fight, and their own victory discovery. 

Nasir allowed himself one more moment to linger, watching the strong line of Agron’s back as he spoke low words to Spartacus about the battle. Nasir pressed his hands to a small spot of clean skin hidden low. He smiled at Agron’s flinch and eagerly met the eyes that turned to chastise him. Spartacus gave his orders, called at each of them to check for the wounded, and left to walk the line, assessing where their breaks had cost lives and where they’d succeeded in defense. 

“You seek to distract me?” Agron asked as he cupped Nasir’s cheek.

“Only to mark my own spot on your skin,” Nasir said. “A perfect reason to help wash all of it later. We cannot have you marching through the camp with every single inch of you covered in muck. What sort of image would that present to the new recruits?”

Agron pressed his thumb over Nasir’s and laughed softly when Nasir nipped the flesh. “Soon,” Agron promised.

Nasir nodded and leaned up to receive Agron’s quick kiss. They had to be leaders now; later would be their time, in their bed, among their beloved red bedclothes that smelled of them and home. Duty required more of them now. Agron went to the flank he led while Nasir turned to check on the rest who fought with spears. He patted Nemetes’ back as he passed and walked deeper into the line. He ignored those already raiding the bodies for coin or jewel, any spoil to be found or object to pay for food, drink, or whore on the road. Nasir would not condemn the delights others sought. 

Lydon was up ahead leading the collection of salvaged swords, knives, and daggers. 

“Find any decent spears?” Nasir called to him.

Lydon shook his head. “We broke the shafts of some to see if the points will aid us.”

“If not we will seek a smith who can melt them down and make something more useful,” Nasir said. He patted Lydon’s shoulder. “You are well?”

Lydon shrugged. “Nothing too damaging.” He gestured to Nasir’s face. “You?”

“Not mine,” Nasir said. He felt the grin tugging at his lips with the words and the pride that swelled within him.

He left Lydon to assess the state of the archers. They’d gone through many leaders in the past half-year. From Lucius to Mira, the loss of their leaders had been great. Naevia now spent more time in the thick of battle than from the archers’ position. Camilla spotted him first and whistled their signal for the all clear. 

“Victory is truly ours?” she asked.

Nasir nodded amidst the cheers of the archers. Camilla ran to him and hugged him in joy. “I will help Lydon collect the arrows.”

Nasir kissed her cheek. “I will see you back at the camp in time for evening meal.”

For a boy who was once torn from his family’s grasp, he now had more siblings than he thought possible. He still dwelled on the memories of his brother in the quiet moments, when Nasir’s mind went idle enough to try and recall his life before slavery. Now he ended most days soaking the calluses on his hands, formed from grip on sword and spear, in oil. He spent each morning seeing that Agron’s armor was correctly fastened, an attempt to keep him that much longer in this world. He ended each night sleeping off the arduous tasks of the day and reacquainting hands, fingers, and heart with the man he loved. Each day revealed new cuts, bruises, and scars both within and without. They were constantly rediscovering each other and Nasir wondered if he could now learn to survive nights passed in complete solitude again. 

He knew it hubris to even dream of winning this war; he knew the gods would seek his punishment if he hoped too much, grew too arrogant. It was hard to remember such when victory itself was a drug. 

Nasir turned to look back at all their forces marching his way, starting the long journey back to their camp, and let himself have one more moment before it was time to take up his duty again.


End file.
